


The Lucrative Trap

by Eryn_Ivers



Category: Original Work
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not angsty, Science Fiction, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn_Ivers/pseuds/Eryn_Ivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate to ‘earn’ his brother’s bail money, an experienced thief breaks into a ship that has a little more security than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lucrative Trap

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies. So, I know I’m super behind on Friends in High Places, and I have no excuse; other than that I’m on vacation and to assuage my guilt I said “fuck it I’m on vacation I’ll write what I want and I want to write tentacle porn.” So this happened. Eheh. I’ll return to Friends in High Places soon.
> 
> Warnings: Serious dubcon, with a little more non than usually makes it into my dubcon. Tentacles. Lots of them. Mentions of incarceration. An implication of interspecies relations.

The Lucrative Trap

By Eryn Ivers

 

Bryant preferred to do more research before a heist.  Even a simple picked pocket required sizing up a mark for a few moments at least, breaking into a store a week of surveillance, and a Diplomat’s personal ship a month if not more.

But Bryant didn’t have a month.  He’d barely had a handful of days and each of those had felt too indulgent, like he was waiting too long.  And maybe he was.  He had no clue what could be happening to his twin brother languishing behind bars in the city-station’s holding cells, forced into close quarters with alien scum.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Bryant looked up as a small, clinking pouch dropped into the old, mutilated exhaust pipe he used as a panhandle.  He caught the eye of the well-dressed gentlemen who’d dropped it, and exchanged a quick wink and a smile before eagerly pulling the pouch towards him.  He didn’t need to hide his enthusiasm; it would simply appear as if he truly _were_ a beggar, huddled under a tattered blanket next to a side alley at the station’s busy port docks.

Of course, the contents of the pouch were no more authentic coin than the man had been an authentic gentleman.  Rocks and two-cents weighed it down to give it a clinking heft, but the real prize lay in the door codes scrawled on a tucked away scrap of paper.  Upon listening to Bryant’s plight, his faux gentleman friend had secured them for him for the low price of a small cut of the profits. 

Even with the procurement of that necessary service, if this job succeeded, Bryant would have enough to bail out his brother, buy a ship off the black market (not a nice ship, but one that could at least get them out of this system) and hightail it off of this station.

Bryant peered through the many legs and other propulsion appendages rushing over the dock to the ship he had marked.  For the personal home and business center of a Hzihk diplomat, it seemed rather unassuming between the two eye catching ships of diplomats from other nations.  The Hzihk Empire was a force to be reckoned with, but for some reason this Diplomat Serihk seemed to live relatively simply. 

But Bryant only needed to fence a single donmar ivory decoration, a trinket really, and it was well-known that the wealthy Hzihks crammed their ships full of the luxury items.  This diplomat’s simple living should be a boon to Bryant.  He did not appear to keep any home guards, just a hulking Klah-Eel bodyguard, that only accompanied him on his business in the station.  So other than the diplomat and the handful of servants that came to clean and cook, the ship usually sat empty.

As Bryant expected it to be in approximately ten station minutes.

He had watched the stereotypically long and elegant Hzihk and giant bodyguard stride off some time ago, so once the meek human maid left, then by Bryant’s count the ship would be clear.

As soon as he glimpsed the mousy-haired girl scurrying away, Bryant shed his tattered blanket to reveal unassuming and subdued garments that could pass as a servant’s uniform if not studied too closely.  He made his way quickly to the ship’s side entrance in the shadow between it and its much larger neighbor.  He pulled out a set of slim tools from his pocket and set to work quickly jerry-rigging the door so he could input the door codes but bypass the biometrics. 

He probably had the skill to hack the door so thoroughly he wouldn’t even need the code, but that was a much riskier task that Bryant didn’t have the time nor leeway to attempt.  Within a minute, he tapped in the last digit and the door slid open with a soft hiss.  After a subtle glance around to make sure there were no suspicious eyes on him, Bryant slipped inside and closed the door behind him. 

The interior of the Hzihk ship was exactly as posh as Bryant expected, despite its surprisingly subtle exterior.  Soft rugs lined the floors, and furniture made of dark hard wood (another rare luxury) filled the rooms imposingly.  The opulence threatened to make Bryant sick. 

With some effort, Bryant quashed his righteous frustration and focused.  He had a job to do.  He needed to find only one donmar ivory trinket, but if the rumors were to be believed, the ship should be filled with them.  He crept quietly and quickly through the hallways, peering into rooms to judge their promise.  He passed a few bedrooms, but nothing stuck out at him and he didn’t have the time to ransack rooms and look through drawers. 

Despite the still and empty ship, Bryant couldn’t shake a creeping sense of unease.  On any other job he would trust his gut and go back the way he came, but desperation pressed him forward. 

After a few more unpromising doors, the hallway opened up into the entrance hall for the front door.  He stopped before venturing in.  His thief’s eyes immediately lit on a large, prominently displayed candelabra, carved from solid donmar ivory.  His mouth watered. 

But Bryant discarded that fantasy.  The diplomat would notice its absence too quickly, alert the authorities too soon and make Bryant’s mission far too perilous.  This was not about the big steal, the fame, it wasn’t even really about the money.  It was about bailing his twin out and getting them both off this blasted city-station and out of this system. 

Instead, Bryant focused his attention on a carved, decorative dagger, sitting on a bookshelf beside leather bound tomes.  He contained a snort; Hzihk décor reminded him of ancient earth, completely impractical and meant only to showcase wealth.  The little, fragile dagger must be worth a fortune.     

He took a deep breath and stole across the empty space to the bookshelf.  He observed his prize carefully before daring to touch it.  He couldn’t see any triggers, or cameras.  Nothing to indicate that the dagger wasn’t sitting there completely innocuously ready to be taken.  Well, he’d gotten this far.  Before his gut could convince him to do otherwise, Bryant reached out and grasped the dagger. 

Before he could pull his hand back, a long, thin flex metal tendril shot out from the wall behind the bookshelf and wrapped around his wrist.

Shit.

Bryant tore his arm away from the still relatively loose grip, clutching the dagger, and sprinted back the way he’d come.  Another autonomous rope looped suddenly and firmly around his calf and Bryant fell to the plush carpet with a shout.  He struggled back to his feet, clawing over the ground, but more and more ropes wrapped around his arms, his chest, his feet, until all hope of escape evaporated.  The metallic tentacles manipulated him to his knees in the middle of the foyer, and pulled his arms so far back he could feel the strain in his shoulders.

Bryant dropped his chin to his chest.  He relinquished his hold on the dagger when he felt some thin tendrils prying his fingers apart, hearing it drop with a soft thud onto the carpet. 

Hzihk traps.  _Why_ hadn’t he thought of the Hzihk traps?  Lifting his head and glancing about, he could see all the dozens of flex metal tentacles of varying sizes and thicknesses extending out from the place the molding on the wall had been.  Diplomat Serihk must have outfitted his ship with body heat sensors, training them on any signature that had a heat above or below a Hzihk, and who took anything from its proper place.

The scale and complexity of the system now rendering Bryant completely immobile though surpassed what he expected from a ship with such an unassuming appearance.  Bryant would be fascinated and intrigued if it hadn’t been his downfall.  If the Hzihk diplomat had invested this much into his security system, maybe he’d also installed nuero-imprintation connections. 

The thought made Bryant shiver.  If he hadn’t, the tentacles were usually too difficult to control dynamically, so upon his discovery the diplomat would probably just call the authorities.  Which was bad.  But if he had, and had done it well, the tentacles would respond to his every thought, even possibly subconscious ones.  That could mean beating, tearing limps off, violent deaths, depending on the diplomat’s response to a would-be thief.  And what would be worse.    

Despite himself, tears pricked sharply at Bryant’s eyes.

He’d failed. 

The magnitude of that inescapable fact slowly started to sink in.  Bryant didn’t fail often; fail too often at criminal activities and one didn’t last long.  And he’d never failed at something so colossal.  He didn’t have the money to bail out his brother, and now he’d been caught and wouldn’t be able to get it.  Not before the corrupt station police department sold him off to a penal working planet.  He’d told him he’d come for him.  Promised.  And despite the risks of the job, he hadn’t fully conceived of the possibility of failing. 

Bryant grit his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut, tested the strength of his bonds, and told himself nothing was over yet.  But a hot tear rolled down his cheek.

A surprisingly gentle appendage wiped it away. 

Bryant started and pulled back.  He stared at the softly swaying tentacle, and as he watched it reached for him again.  Bryant tried to pull away, but the others held him fast.

“What are you…”

Bryant trailed off as the smooth metal stroked his cheek firmly.  Then it and two others pushed into his hair, brushing it back from his face and massaging into his scalp.  Bryant’s eyes dropped closed.  The comforting touch seemed to melt away some of the tension in the back of his neck that he hadn’t even realized plagued him. 

Bryant’s eyes shot back open.  No, the touch wasn’t comforting.  He tried to pull away but as gentle as the tentacles had turned, their strength had not lessened.  But they _had_ turned gentle, Bryant fully registered with a start.  The ones holding his arms no longer put strain on his shoulders.  The ones round his chest didn’t constrict his breathing.  They simply restrained him.

They continued massaging his scalp and neck, and gradually others began to join in.  They dug into his shoulders, finding knots and attacking them, rubbing up and down his sides and kneaded the muscles in his legs and arms.  Bryant’s stress began to drain away.  He melted into the firm touches, let them loosen his muscles in a way that fell on just the right side of painful. 

Bryant wondered briefly if this was all the system would do, loosen him up, relax him, perhaps make him more compliant for interrogation?  Then a tentacle brushed under the hem of his shirt. 

Bryant gasped, and then a second, third, fourth tentacle joined, the smooth metal cool against his skin as they worked under his shirt.  He squirmed as they rucked it up his sides. 

“Stop!  What—ngh,” Bryant choked when one slender tentacle pulled at a nipple.  It teased and rubbed at his small bud until it stood hard, and erect.  Even once it stood at full sensitivity another tentacle began on his other nipple and the first continued its assault, until Bryant whimpered with every new touch.  God it almost hurt; when was the last time anyone had spent so long on that part of his body?

The overstimulation enthralled Bryant so much, he didn’t notice the thin appendages creeping below the waist band of his pants until one brushed the cleft of his ass. 

“Hey!” he cried, jerking, and for once the tentacles took notice.  They pulled him up from his kneeling position until he had completely left the ground, held aloft by the strong dozens of tentacles.  They lifted his arms above his head long enough to pull off his shirt, and secured them tightly, if gentle, behind his back again. 

He sighed softly in relief when the two insistent tentacles finally lost interest in his nipples.  His short lived relief evaporated though when a new swarm began creeping and wandering up his legs. 

When they reached mid-thigh, Bryant realized two things to his utter horror: he was half-hard, and a tall, lean figure stood in the shadows of the hallway.

“You there!” Bryant called desperately.  “Help me, please!”

Then his nipple was pinched abruptly and a thicker flex metal appendage took advantage of his gasp to thrust into his mouth.

Bryant thrashed and yowled around the intrusion, but the tentacle didn’t lament and its brothers restricted his movement too much to pull away.  And he had an audience.  He had an audience and Bryant burned with the shame of that even as he was manipulated to turn away, hiding the figure from sight. 

Despite his protests, the tentacles pulled off his pants and let them drop to the floor beside his shirt, and the dagger.  Then Bryant felt a tug at his underwear.  No, please, no.  Bryant tried to beg but the tentacle in his mouth kept thrusting, causing saliva to dribble out of the corners of his mouth. When he felt his underwear slide over his hips, tears joined them. 

The tentacles paused as his underwear hit the floor, leaving him naked and and exposed, aloft in the foyer.  The one in his mouth gentled though it continued, and another wiped away his spit and tears. 

The full body massage resumed, and despite himself Bryant began to relax.  He gave up his struggle.  What was the point?  The tentacles, the figure in the hall, they would do with him as they wished.

But then he moaned, and flushed with embarrassed shock.  Thin tendrils had wound their way around his half hard cock and began jerking him slowly.  Oh god but they were so gentle, and they pulled him so sweetly, the flex metal warm from the heat of his own body.  Bryant moaned around the metal in his mouth. 

The others, too many for Bryant to track in his slowly addling brain, traced across his skin.  They trailed over the muscles in his chest, fluttered along his inner thighs, wound around his balls.  Bryant didn’t even bother to stifle his groan as they pinched and pulled at the skin of his sack. 

Then a thin one slid along the cleft of his ass again and he tensed violently.  His erection almost flagged at the implication.  They would go that far?  As though in answer, the tentacles spread him, and positioned him so that his rear faced the hallway.  His tight pucker displayed for the perusal of the man in the shadows.  The man wanted to watch this?  Did he want to watch his awful contraption take him dry?

Cool flex metal ran over his hole and Bryant felt it twitch.  He cringed as he thought of the show he was putting on.  The tentacle did it again, and circled his entrance, teasing.  It wouldn’t enter him dry, surely, not after how gentle they had all been.

Another tentacle slid into his mouth next to the first, and Bryant understood.  He sucked desperately on it, on them both, laving up and down with his tongue.  A particularly firm stroke from the base of his cock to the tip rewarded his efforts and Bryant redoubled them with a soft moan.  He slicked the appendages as much as saliva could, and before too long the second one pulled out. 

It wasted no time in sliding down his crack to probe at his entrance.  The touch of the metal made him twitch.  He squeezed his eyes shut and distracted himself by sucking gamely on the tentacle still moving in his mouth, earning a few more firm pulls. 

The slick tendril at his opening pressed inside of him, and Bryant grunted.  It worked itself in, and then out, over and over.  It twisted around inside of him, and pulled at his rim.  It pressed and stroked at places he hadn’t known he had and set him quivering.

Another tentacle as thin as the other pushed inside of him as well, and together they began stretching him methodically.  They stretched so patiently and so slowly though that Bryant didn’t even register a burn, just the strange sensation. 

And the eyes on him. 

Two thick tentacles wrapped around each of his legs and pulled him apart, and he knew with absolute certainty that his voyeur watched with rapt attention as his technology worked him open.  Then the two tendrils curled and Bryant gave a strangled cry.  They tapped and rubbed his prostate in turns and suddenly it wasn’t enough. 

The tentacle wrapped around his cock wasn’t enough, the ones fondling his sack, playing with his prostate, toying with his rim, god he needed more.  It was so much, too much but god god he needed more. 

Bryant twisted and whimpered.  He tried to twitch his hips either to chase more friction of impale himself on more tentacle he didn’t care.  But he couldn’t get the leverage, couldn’t move satisfyingly enough.  He sucked with renewed vigor again, and moaned like a slut when metal hit the back of his throat.  He’d do anything, he realized, anything right now to just get _more_.

Maybe that was his punishment?  Get him so hard and desperate he’d rut against a cactus if he could and then never let him finish?  The thought wrenched a sob from Bryant’s throat. 

The tentacles in his ass halted their assault on his prostate and pulled out.  Bryant’s muscles clenched around nothing, winking his hole at the man in the hallway.  But before Bryant could cry in protest, something bigger and colder nudged at his entrance.  Slowly, the well-endowed appendage, not yet warm from his body heat pushed in.  Bryant’s saliva had not been enough to lubricate this one and it burned slightly going in but god Bryant was beyond caring.  He tried to push back to get more, but the tentacles holding him aloft only tightened their grip to hold him completely still. 

So it entered him millimeter by millimeter, but so much deeper than any lover ever had.  And then finally it was in.  Bryant groaned as it pulled out again, but finally finally he was getting what he wanted.  As his body adjusted to the tentacle’s girth, the flex metal warmed to his body heat. 

And then it thrusted.  Oh gods it thrusted slow and deep and steady.  His rim stretched and clenched obscenely and with his legs spread wide he could only imagine the display he made but gods it felt so good.  The tentacle in his mouth changed to match the rhythm of the one in his ass and then god they fucked him from both ends. 

Suddenly the thick appendage rubbed over his prostate and Bryant keened. 

That seemed to be the signal for the contraption to begin in earnest and they both sped up to a brutal pace that was oh so perfect.  Bryant bounced between them with each thrust so sweetly, so thoroughly violated.  The tentacle in his ass hit his prostate with mechanical precision, driving him up and up to indescribable, painful pleasure. 

Tears formed in Bryant’s eyes.  Wanton moans and curses and sobs fell around the tentacle he sucked in a near constant stream. 

Finally, a thin, thin tentacle probed into the slit of his cock and Bryant came uncontrollably. 

The force of his orgasm shocked Bryant and for a moment his vision blacked out.  He could feel himself coming and coming, feel some of his spunk splatter onto his stomach.  Every nerve in his body screamed, crying out as the tentacle milked his prostate through his orgasm until he sobbed with the over stimulation.  Then it slid out, leaving him empty.  They unwrapped from around his cock and balls, and gently, so gently lay him, quivering onto the plush carpet. 

He should move.  He needed to move, not sit here vulnerable, Bryant knew this.  But he didn’t have the willpower.  And the carpet felt so soft against his bare, sweaty skin.  The flex metal tentacles pulled into the wall as though they’d never been there. 

Soft footsteps approached where Bryant lay, outside of his field of vision.  Long, slender appendages threaded through and pushed back the sweaty hair at his temple.  But these weren’t made of flex metal, rather smooth, cool skin. 

“My name is Serihk,” said a deep, melodic voice in universal.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

The fingers carded across his scalp again, and Bryant felt almost lulled by it.  His mind screamed for him to fight or flee, but his body was simply too sated to obey.  An elegant, elongated hand reached into his field of vision and plucked the ivory dagger from the floor.  Then Bryant heard the man behind him stand up, and he watched as the Hzihk man appeared before him and set the dagger back in its original spot.  It occurred to Bryant that he was lucky it was not buried in his throat. 

Serihk looked every bit the Hzihk diplomat: tall and lean, draped in flowing robes, skin that appeared almost incandescent, and an imperious gaze.  Currently that gaze, with its black eyes fixed on Bryant with a look Bryant’s orgasm addled mind couldn’t read. 

Then Serihk glided to the display that had first caught Bryant’s eyes and picked up the breath taking donmar ivory candelabra.  He returned to Bryant, knelt, and set it down beside him.  Bryant’s eyes widened.  The Hzihk man looked at him for a few moments, and then sighed softly.

“Unfortunately, work beckons.  But please—” he stood up and made his way back to the hallway Bryant knew lead to an exit.  Bryant managed to move and twist his body enough to keep an eye on him.  Serihk set a hand on the wall and looked back at him with a sly smile.  “If you ever find yourself _wanting_ for anything else, just knock on the front door.”

 

The End

      

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I finished the rough draft of another one-shot since being on vacation, so that should also make an appearance soon-ish. Once it’s edited and the next chapter of Friends in High Places is out. 
> 
> As usual, comments are adored.
> 
> Have a great weekend everyone!
> 
> ~Eryn Ivers


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